by Burke, Darcy
Sliding from the settee, Regan went to hug Thomas before leaving with the nurse.
“Your daughter is absolutely wonderful. You have more than made up for your former wife’s lack of care.”
“That has never been my goal, not specifically,” he said quietly. “Regan is my entire heart.”
“Your entire heart? There’s nothing left for your mysterious blonde ‘friend’?”
Thomas rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and leaned forward. “Listen, I would prefer if you didn’t discuss this with anyone. This woman is not my mistress. She is just what Regan said—a friend. I find I have need of one right now.” That was the absolute truth. Beatrix had come into his life at precisely the right moment. He honestly didn’t know what he would have done without her help that night—just her presence had allowed him to navigate an utterly unbearable event.
Aunt Charity’s forehead creased with sympathy. “Of course you do. I would never judge you.” She looked as though she wanted to ask him more.
“I won’t tell you anything else, so don’t ask.” He gave her a half smile. “Just know that she’s a friend. And nothing more.”
“If she’s helped you through this time, she is more than a friend—she’s an angel. I’m grateful for whatever comfort she gives you.”
“Thank you.” He sat back and put his palms against the arms of the chair. “Now, let us talk of something that has nothing to do with me.”
She grinned. “Then let me tell you an amusing story of your cousin’s son, Peregrine.”
“Yes, please do. It’s been far too long since he and Regan played together.”
“We’ll have to rectify that,” Aunt Charity said. “Soon.” Then she launched into her tale, and for a brief while, Thomas laughed.
Chapter 7
Beatrix and Selina dressed for the masquerade ball at Rafe’s house on Upper Brook Street. Selina was absolutely resplendent in a gown of rose with an overskirt of gold gauze that shimmered in the candlelight. The sleeves were embroidered with a variety of flowers in gold thread, and she wore diamond eardrops and a diamond necklace that perfectly matched the diamond betrothal ring Harry had given her. The jewelry made Beatrix think of the demi-parure her mother had promised her—emeralds set in a pair of earrings, a necklace, and a bracelet. Mama had told her they would belong to her one day. Beatrix looked forward to getting them from her father.
“You look beautiful,” Beatrix said, beaming at Selina.
“Thank you.” Selina blushed as she looked in the mirror. “I don’t even recognize myself.”
“I do. You’re still the brave girl who rescued me at Mrs. Goodwin’s.”
Selina turned to her, smiling. “You rescued me too.”
“I’m so happy for you and Harry. To find a man you love and who loves you in return…” Beatrix sighed.
“It’s astonishing. I don’t know if I shall ever believe it.”
“Just so long as you remember that you deserve it,” Beatrix said.
“I can’t forget that because you and Harry keep reminding me.” She adjusted the necklace at her throat, repositioning the diamond just slightly. “Do you think it’s odd we don’t have masks?”
They’d discussed this with Harry’s family at length and decided Harry and Selina shouldn’t wear them. Everyone would want to congratulate them, and they couldn’t if Harry and Selina weren’t easily recognizable. And since Beatrix was hoping to catch her father’s eye, she couldn’t very well hide her face.
“Not at all. And who cares anyway? We have very good reasons for not wearing them.”
A knock on the door drew them both to turn. Selina went and opened it to reveal Harry.
He was dressed in black save his bright white shirt and rose-gold waistcoat that had been made to match Selina’s gown. The love in his eyes glowed as he gazed at Selina. Beatrix couldn’t have been happier if she were the one about to be married.
“Beautiful,” Harry said. Then he looked past Selina at Beatrix and added, “You too.”
Beatrix laughed. “Thank you. I’m going down. You two catch up…whenever. Just don’t wrinkle her gown.” She waggled her brows at Harry as she walked by them and started toward the stairs.
A short while later, people began to arrive. Beatrix kept looking for Tom, which was silly because he wasn’t coming. She was soon swept up in the excitement and splendor of the ball. Rafe’s house was magnificent, and the ballroom in particular was lavishly decorated with sparkling chandeliers, mirrors that reflected the light, and a great many flowers. The air quickly grew warm, but doors were opened to allow the evening air to flow inside, and several footmen waved fans.
After dancing a set with Lord Daventry, whom she’d also partnered with at Almack’s, Beatrix went to fetch a glass of lemonade.
“Miss Whitford, good evening.”
Beatrix turned to see her half brother. At least, she was fairly certain it was him. “Lord Worth?”
He chuckled. “Very good! How is the lemonade?”
“Far superior to Almack’s, I’m happy to report.”
“That is not a difficult accomplishment. I would expect nothing less. Your brother has spared no expense.” Worth looked around the ballroom. “His house is exceptional.”
Beatrix didn’t know how to respond to that, so she finished her lemonade and then handed her empty glass to a passing footman.
“I must apologize for not calling on you yet,” Worth said. “I do plan to.”
“Wonderful.” She flashed a brief smile and glanced around for an excuse to depart before he could flirt with her. She really didn’t think she could endure it.
Then it happened. He was here. The Duke of Ramsgate was walking straight toward them. She knew because he wasn’t wearing a mask.
Beatrix’s heart cartwheeled, and her pulse raced like a frightened pony. She was already a trifle warm, but an anxious heat flashed over her.
The duke stopped near his son and cast a glance toward Beatrix. She smiled broadly—probably too broadly—and waited for him to recognize her.
He barely inclined his head before looking back at Worth. “Have you been here long?”
“Awhile,” Worth said. “You just arrived?”
“Yes, against my better judgment. This Bowles fellow is an upstart. His house is a tad vulgar, don’t you think?”
Beatrix froze. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. She could barely think. He hadn’t recognized her at all. In fact, it was as if she wasn’t even standing there. Was he giving her the cut direct? She had no idea. What’s more, he was insulting Rafe and his house!
Worth sniffed. “I rather like it. You’re being overly staid. May I present Miss Beatrix Whitford? She is Mister Bowles’s sister.” He said the last with a pointed edge.
Her father at last looked at her—really looked at her. And inclined his head again. “Miss Whitford.” He didn’t seem the least bit sorry that he’d insulted her “brother.” Nor did he recognize her. Or if he did, he was exceptionally good at disguising it.
She sank into a well-rehearsed curtsey. “Good evening, Your Grace. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” Rising, she waited for him to make some pleasant small talk. Instead, he returned his attention to his son.
“I want to introduce you to someone.”
“In a moment,” Worth said with a hint of irritation. “I’m speaking with Miss Whitford.”
The duke’s brows pitched down, and his mouth twisted with disappointment. “Now, if you please.”
Worth’s eyes sparked, and he opened his mouth to respond.
Beatrix cut him off. “It’s all right. You go on,” she said, eager to be free of him—or more accurately, any potential flirtation. In truth, she somewhat liked him. Or thought she would if they became friends. Or siblings.
He looked toward her. “Are you certain? We haven’t danced yet.”
She laughed gaily. “Oh, there’s plenty of time for that.” Right now, she wanted to get away from every
one before the hurt rising in her throat spilled from her eyes.
“Very well.” Worth pivoted and went with the duke, who didn’t so much as spare a glance toward Beatrix.
Cheeks burning, she spun around and stalked from the ballroom into an adjoining room where people were playing cards. She wove through the chamber and into another, then another. This house was a bloody maze!
At last, she was in a room without people, and, thankfully, she knew where she was. Turning to the left, she went into the wing of the house where the redecoration hadn’t yet been completed.
She found herself in Rafe’s large, spectacular library. Though there was no one inside, there were lanterns partially illuminating the room.
It was in a state of disarray, the renovation incomplete. Not all the shelves were in place, and those that were held only a fraction of the books they would eventually support. There would be more than she could ever possibly read. Or not. She would enjoy the challenge.
Yes, think of books. Think of anything but your father.
Too late. He’d barely even looked at her! Even if he hadn’t recognized her, he’d still been rude. He hadn’t even apologized for insulting Rafe even after learning she was his sister.
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to shed them. Perhaps there was a reason he’d acted that way. What if he’d recognized her and was simply too surprised to look at or speak to her?
Except if he’d been that shocked, she surely would have seen some sign of it. All that aside, he’d behaved horribly. How dare he speak of Rafe like that?
She stamped her foot and furiously worked to rein in her emotions. A movement caught her eye. A man dressed entirely in black, save his ivory shirt, wearing a mask that covered all of his face except his mouth closed the door behind him.
Beatrix’s emotions gathered into one—fear. There was only one reason a man would follow her. And she was without her knife and pistol. Looking about for a weapon, her gaze fell on a candlestick on a table.
She took a few steps and wrapped her hand around the middle. Raising the brass candlestick, she faced the masked man. “Don’t come any closer.”
The man stalked toward her.
She waved the candlestick. “I mean it!”
“I know you do.” He untied the mask and pulled it from his face. “Beatrix.”
She gaped at Tom. “I would have hit you.”
“I’m well aware,” he said wryly. “I’ve seen you defend yourself, and, as you’ve pointed out, you’re quite capable.”
She set the candlestick down and took a deep breath, her pulse calming now that there was no danger. “There’s only one reason a man follows a woman into a secluded room during a ball.”
He arched a brow at her, and she was struck by how handsome he looked in his crisp evening wear, his dark hair combed into a dashing style. “Just one? Why do you think I’m here?”
“Well, not for that.” Heat flushed through her. She imagined that with him and wished that was why he’d come.
He closed the distance between them, coming to stand right before her. “How do you know?” His voice was a silken cloak that wrapped itself around her.
“You followed me for an assignation?” The last word came out at a much higher pitch, and her heart had begun to speed up once more. “Wait, why are you even here at all? You’re in mourning.”
“Yes, well, my aunt has assured me that I’m welcome to go out in Society because I’m in need of a wife.”
“You are?”
He lifted a shoulder. “So people think. You see, I’m a father of a young daughter and a viscount without an heir.” He rolled his eyes. “Obviously, I am in need of a wife.”
“Obviously.” It wasn’t really. Not to Beatrix, but then what did she know of such things?
“I confess I couldn’t resist the chance to come tonight—I received the invitation before… Well, before. Anyway, I wanted to see you in a gown and all the trappings.”
“Didn’t you already do that at Almack’s?”
He exhaled. “Yes. I also hoped to dance with you. That, I haven’t done.”
“No, you haven’t.” She sounded like she’d swallowed a frog. He was so close, so wonderfully imposing, and he smelled divine—like sandalwood and spice.
She’d never understood why a woman would swoon. Until now.
Voices outside the door sounded an alarm. She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the other side of the room where one of the new bookcases hadn’t yet been pushed back against the wall. It provided an excellent—and the only—place for them to hide.
She pulled him behind the bookcase and held her finger to her lips. The space was rather close, pinning them between the bookcase and the wall. They faced each other, their chests touching. It might not have been an assignation, but it would certainly look like one if they were discovered.
It also felt a little bit like it was one.
All she need do was stand on her toes, twine her arms around his neck, press her lips to his… Would he mind?
The space was rather dim, but she could just make him out in the shadows. He looked down at her, his gaze dark and enchanting. She nearly lost herself, but then the voices were closer—in the room now—and she knew them.
“What happened?” Selina asked.
“I was speaking with… Hell, I don’t remember his name. Lord Dimwit or something.” That was Rafe. “I just misspoke, but I think I covered it well.”
“What did you say?”
“I said Beatrix was your sister.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed very slightly as his head cocked to listen to the conversation.
Beatrix’s heart beat so loudly, she feared he could hear it.
“Is that all?” Selina asked, and Beatrix could almost hear her frowning. “What did you say?”
“I laughed, and then I said she was our sister.”
“Rafe. What else?” Selina demanded. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing! That’s exactly as it happened. Just…”
There was a noise, as if Rafe had kicked something, and Beatrix startled. Tom put his arms around her and held her steady. His touch was at once comforting and arousing.
“I hate having to remember all this nonsense,” Rafe said. “I don’t know how you and Beatrix did this for so long.”
Selina scoffed. “As if you weren’t weaving your own lies as the Vicar. It’s not that hard. Beatrix is our half sister. We share a mother who is now dead. Beatrix is twenty-two, not twenty-six, though I can’t imagine why her age would ever come up. The rest are things you fabricated.”
Beatrix’s stomach dropped through the floor. Tom stared down at her in disbelief. He released her as the color leached from his face. But only for a moment. It came right back, especially in his cheeks, where red swaths marked his anger.
“Rafe, don’t worry.” Selina sounded concerned but caring. It did nothing to soothe Beatrix, but then, it wasn’t directed at her. “I’m sure it was fine. You’ve survived so much. You won’t be toppled by Lord Dimwit or whatever his name was. And neither will I or Beatrix. Now come on, we need to get back.”
Whatever Rafe said next was unintelligible. But a moment later, the distinct sound of the door closing was impossible to miss.
Tom took a step back, which would have made him visible to anyone else in the room. “What the hell just happened? Are you not Lady Gresham’s half sister? Or Mr. Bowles’s half sister? Who are you?”
“I’m your friend.”
“I thought so, but apparently, I don’t know you at all.” His voice trembled with such anguish that her heart nearly tore in two.
* * *
The most sexually charged moment of Thomas’s life had turned to ash in the breadth of a short conversation. One that hadn’t even involved him. He was still trying to process what he’d heard.
What had she and her sister—who wasn’t her bloody sister—done for so long? Hell, she’d even lied about her age. Why? None of this
made sense. Unless she and her “siblings” were imposters.
To what end? So they could infiltrate Society and…marry well?
He shook his head as if he could jar his jumbled thoughts into some kind of clarity. “What lies was she talking about? Is anything about you real?”
“Can we move out from behind the bookcase?” she asked.
Thomas took another step back. Pivoting, he stalked to the middle of the room. His body crackled with outrage.
“Are you going to explain, or should I go?” He should leave. What was the point in listening to her explanations? He wanted to know the truth, but how could he ever know if she lied to him or not?
She’d followed him to the middle of the room, her petite form stiffening so that she seemed slightly taller. “I am entirely real. Selina is not my blood sister, nor is Rafe my brother. They are siblings, however. I am the bastard daughter of the Duke of Ramsgate. I met Selina at school when I was eleven. The other girls were horrible to me because I’m a bastard, and Selina was kind. We grew close and vowed never to abandon each other.”
She spoke so clearly and with such ferocity that it was impossible not to be moved by the obvious love she had for her faux sister. He also couldn’t ignore the lingering pain in her voice when she mentioned the other girls. Thomas longed to learn each of their names and make sure they suffered for their cruelty. Even after learning Beatrix had lied, he was apparently still drawn to her.
He remembered the night he’d seen her in the tree. “You almost gave me another name when I met you.”
“Linley. It was my mother’s name. When I left the school, I took a different name. Selina and I reinvented ourselves.” She looked at him with anguish in her gaze. “Please don’t ask me about Selina. Her secrets are not mine to share.”
He could understand that, and for now, he would honor her request. “Continue. What other lies was Lady Gresham referring to?”
“Just that—who we really are. We’ve been on our own for more than a decade. It’s often been…difficult.” She wrung her hands, her stomach twisting into knots she feared would never untangle.
